Orange Colored Sky
by darby-vo
Summary: Nora begins to adjust to this new primitive Wasteland with the help of her friend Hancock, realizing that things aren't quite as different as they seem. [possible M rating in future]
1. Personality

"The centuries were not kind," Nora slurred, the Gwinnett bottle hanging between two fingers as she pressed her elbows on top of the bar. Her cheeks were rosy and she smiled as she spoke. It had been a while since she had seen the inside of the Shamrock Taphouse. There was a bartender back then and a significant less amount of holes in the ceiling. "I came here on a date once. A while ago. A...oh wow, a couple hundred years ago..." Her green eyes surveyed the bar, a mix of emotions registering on her sun-kissed features. At first, it was usually just disbelief. After five beers how ever, she had headed straight for nostalgia. Hancock's favorite.

"Is that so? You dog..." The ghoul began, his beer from his scarred lips to speak in a lazy tone. His brow raised in interest, smiling himself as he turned to look at the woman beside him. The soft blue light from her pip-boy illuminated them both in the dark bar, humming the same dated songs that it always did on these nights. Hancock enjoyed the moments they could decompress together. It had been three months that they had been traveling together and as far as he was concerned, these kinds of nights were too few and far between each other. He rested his empty drink on the bar, pushing it out of reach with the other tapped bottles they had killed that night. The glasses rattled together before he leaned towards her to continue, "And how'd that turn out, if ya don't mind measkin'?"

"Oh, swell," she mused, her pink lips curling upwards at each end. It was a joke. The date had gone horrible from what she remembered. Nora had just graduated college at the time and the man was horribly persistent even after their classes were over. "Just a keeper. He kept..." she paused, fiddling with her fingers to begin snapping, "- doing this shit to get the bartender's attention. And just spoke over me the whole time. Ordered me a glass of white wine because it's what paired well with the salad he thought I should have."

Hancock laughed. "So you killed him?"

"No," her voice was low, her head tilting to the side as the features on her face contorted into something discernible. She turned to look at him, studying the smile on his gaunt features for a moment or two before speaking again, "Kellog did."

Hancock nodded, giving a gruff noise from his throat in acknowledgement. It was a delicate subject – one that he knew was both important and relevant to Nora with every step she took. Up until a year ago (in her time), her husband had been a part of her life...and he had been murdered. He expected her to talk about him. It was how people coped. He just didn't expect the feeling it caused in the pit of his stomach when she did. His hands slid off of the bar, disappearing into his pocket to retrieve a tin of Mentats. In the moment, he was the only one that had stopped smiling.

Nora took a sip and and continued to grin. The bar might have been destroyed, but the concept of a "friday night" wasn't. They had had a long week trying to get The Slog running as an outpost. A lot of killing, a lot of looting, and a lot of stress. She closed her eyes in comfort while silence fell between them. These past few months with Hancock had presented her with a lifestyle that she had never known. Too many drinks had transpired in the moment for her to contemplate why, but she had never been more satisfied in her life.

A few minutes passed before either of them spoke. Hancock's dark eyes found Nora once more. Even in dim lighting, he could spot the freckles that had developed on her cheeks since they started traveling. The wasteland was slowly crafting her into something new. Shifting on his barstool, he leaned towards her and plucked the beer from her hands. "C'mon sister, you're slackin." The beer was nearly empty, yet her eyes opened to glare at him like it was still of value. He finished the last of it with a long pull, then threw it by the rest. "How am I gonna convince you to keep travelin' with me, if you're still sober enough to see this ugly mug?"

"Oh, get the fuck outta here with that," Nora's laugh echoed through out the empty bar. She swatted at Hancock's hat, knocking it down over his eyes before she rose from her seat. In all honesty, she had spent quite a bit of time thinking about that 'mug' of his and how it must have felt. How it smirked at her sarcastic remarks and how contagious it was when it laughed. She walked passed him to round the other side of the bar, retrieving her bag from the empty sink to grab more drinks. Producing two beers, she offered them to Hancock as he adjusted his hat and narrowed his eyes at her. She grinned childishly, "You know it's your _personality_ I have a problem with."

"Listen here, Sunshine," he muttered, a smirk forming on his lips as he snatched bottles from her. He placed them on the bar and grabbed a lighter from his red coat to break them open as he spoke, "You knew _-crack-_ damn well _-crack-_ what you were gettin' with me the day you walked into Goodneighbor."

Hancock slid an open beer towards Nora before grabbing the other. Picking it up, she shook her head then locked eyes with the ghoul. The two of them had come far since that first day, but it always stayed with her. In that moment, she was a nobody; in that moment, he was a just a killer. Such a thought felt foreign to her as she watched the smile develop on his scarred features. She smiled too. They clinked their bottles together and drank.

He was wrong. She had no idea what she was getting into when she met him.


	2. Butcher Pete

It was always easier to put a knife in something, than it was to take it out. Hancock tugged at the handle and grunted. They had spent the morning doing a sweep at the Mercer Safehouse and had just cleared the double digits in dead bodies. This dead scavenger however, wasn't giving it up. "C'mon brother..." he mumbled at the body, twisting the handle and giving it another try. Thick, dark blood swelled from the wound to saturate the raider's clothing. "Let it go, huh? It's over." He slid the body to the asphalt, tightening his grasp on the handle while he placed a foot on it's chest. "You lost..." Bending his knees with exaggeration, Hancock stabilized himself, then looked to Nora. She was busy inspecting the perimeter, her hands choking the clutch of her 10mm.

"Hey," he called with a smile, "Hey what was the name of that cat you were telling me about last night at the Combat Zone? The one with the table."

Nora paused and cocked her head. _That cat..._ What cat? She raised a hand to wipe the sweat from her brow, her eyes clearing the horizon before they fell on him with curiosity. Last night had become a bit of a blur. It couldn't have been past eight when they had met Deacon and Cait up for drinks at the Combat Zone. By midnight, it was nothing but an exchange of tall tales and war stores. When it hit the smaller hours of the morning, it had widdled down to just Hancock and herself – swapping soft laughter over his deep hits of Jet and demands for a story. She walked over to him.

"Wait," Nora paused, "You mean...Arthur?" She began to smile.

"Yeah, yeah that's the one," he began, steading his grip on the knife again. " _King_ Arthur. Check it out." With that, Hancock ripped the knife out of the raiders chest – blood spattering every where as he raised it above his head, "Excalibur – right?"

Disbelief and laughter erupted from her. "No," she began, "I mean yes, but Hancock, you just can't..." There was blood on everything including himself and he was grinning like a child. Nora had just assumed he was placating her maternal instincts by asking for bedtime stories. She didn't think they'd resonate. "And this is excessive..." Her eyes followed him as he stepped off the raider and wiped the blade on the cuff of his boot. "I don't remember there being a body count this high. And it's supposed to be a stone."

"So let's assume I'm stoned." He winked as he approached her, sliding the 'sword' into it's holster within his coat. He watched as her green eyes darted about his appearance, the corners of her mouth pinned in place to hide her smile. Hancock loved that damn smile.

"I thought we were talking fiction," she muttered, tracking each speck of blood upon the man's body. A slash of crimson laid from his cheek to his chin – another spot by his neck and a few more on the breast of his red coat. It pooled in the tracks of his skin even as he lifted a hand to wipe it away. Nora bit the inside of her lip and offered him the gun. There was something about the dark shine of his eyes, the blood and the adrenaline of the fight that caused her eyes to linger on him a little too long. "So, your highness, what's your first order of business?"

Hancock stared back before responding, pocketing the pistol she held towards him with a coy smile. There was something different in her voice as she spoke. It wasn't new, but it was enough to make his chest swell as he eyed her. "Well, reinstating _prima nocta_ sound's pretty fun, but I ain't that kinda ghoul."

Nora eyed him, the grin on her lips slipping into something that displayed a genuine interest, "What kind of ghoul are you then?" With out thought, she reached her hand to his face, touching the crimson blemish to wipe it off. It hadn't dawned on her that she had never felt him until that moment. He felt soft beneath her finger tips, yet stiff and worn like soaked leather. He was still made of man. Her thumb slid across the line of his jaw and she bit her lip once more. She could have sworn he smiled as she minded each slick imperfection it offered. There was a low, nervous laugh before he pulled away.

"The kind that always runs from the good things in life..."

 _Shit._ He reached a hand behind his neck and forced out a smile. She was kind enough not to scream when he woke her up in the morning, but it was asking too much for her to ignore the way his fucked face felt (even if she was the one that initiated it). _Shit, fuck._ She was too kind and he needed a solid line. A part of him damn near purred when she touched him. His hand had fallen from the back of his neck and into his pocket, rummaging for a cigarette or a tin or an inhaler of some kind to split the seconds into something easier to understand. This wasn't what he had signed on for when he had asked to join her.

The nod she was responded with went unnoticed as she turned away from Hancock and started towards the safehouse. Nora knew he'd find his anchor some day. She just hoped they were worthy of him.


End file.
